Cuba Undercover Read online

  In two steps, he was in front of her, pulling her into him, his voice in her ear. “Don’t ever disrespect me that way again. Or…”

  She stiffened.

  “Or I’ll toss you onto your friend Domingo’s boat, and let him take you back to America.”

  Her heart clenched at the thought, knowing if she was forced onto that poor excuse for a boat she’d never make it back to America alive.

  Chapter Five

  “Señor, señor. We go now. No violencia. No violencia.” Domingo’s voice shook.

  Antonio stilled, paused, and then gently pushed Rebecca away from him. Damn it. If he continued on this track, he’d be no better than the asshole who was abusing his sister. He had to control his emotions better. But Rebecca had an unexpected way of spiking his blood pressure and stirring up unwanted feelings. He hadn’t planned for that.

  “I’m sorry.” Rebecca held up both hands as if surrendering. “I just…I’m scared and confused.”

  “About what?” Antonio growled at her. While he admired her strong personality, he had to put some distance between them, keep her aware of who was the boss here. Stay in control. Of himself. And his reactions to her.

  “Your intentions.”

  “What about them? They haven’t changed.” Where was she going with this? “We’re leaving.”

  “Fine.” She gestured for Dallas to move back on board. “So, basically your sister’s life is worth more than the lives of these twenty-three people.”

  Ah, that was her intent. To make him feel guilty. Impressive. It was working. She was actually making him stop to think before acting. And now he was thinking maybe she was right. These kids were willing to risk their lives for a reason. Maybe they weren’t being abused as his sister was, but something bad was going on here, or they wouldn’t be willing to take such a chance with their own existence. Antonio stopped suddenly.

  Rebecca ran into his back.

  “Damn you, Rebecca.” He spun around to face her. Damn you for reminding me of my moral compass.

  She took a step back. “Well, I just feel like we’re playing God here.”

  He glared down at her, the full moon reflecting in her big brown eyes. Eyes he could get lost in if he allowed it. But he wouldn’t.

  “We came to Cuba to save a Cuban who wants to leave this country and come to America,” she said. “But we’re willing to walk away from all of these people who want to do the same, knowing they probably won’t survive?” She swept a hand through her hair. “Are you telling me you can live with that?”

  Antonio exhaled and paused, amazed at how silent the entire coastline had become. Only the hypnotic sound of the waves whipping against the shore and the constant banging of Domingo’s pathetic boat disrupted the eerie silence.

  He knew what he had to do. But it had taken Rebecca shaking him out of his zone of personal obsession to make him see it. No way in hell would he allow these kids to die if he had the power to prevent it. And he did. “I’ll send the cruiser back to America right now, with all of them on board.”

  He thought he saw relief sweep over Rebecca’s face. Hard to tell. He reached for her wrist. Her pulse was accelerating. He bet the artery at the base of her neck was also throbbing. Something about the way he could affect her heart rate—as she affected his—excited him. Heat transferred from her skin to his, and he felt desire stir his center. Jesus. Now was not the time.

  “No, wait.” She pulled out of his grasp. “But don’t we need the cruiser?” she objected.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Antonio stepped back, taking a few deep breaths. “If I send La Libertad back with all of these kids on board, it won’t be back to Cuba for another day, maybe longer, depending on weather conditions.” He wondered if she picked up on the irony. He’d named his yacht Freedom.

  She was blinking now, as if trying to clear an eyelash or maybe in this case, a bad thought. “But didn’t you say that we were going to be here less than twenty-four hours?” She glanced at La Libertad, looking like she was anxious about letting her safety net motor away.

  “In and out quickly, remember?” Will she pass the test? And do what’s right for the greater good? An odd sense of hope filled him. While planning this mission, he’d prayed she would be the kind of woman who was brave enough to do the right thing, even if it meant risking her own personal safety. He was about to find out.

  “And if the boat isn’t here when we’re finally ready to leave?” she asked.

  “We wait.”

  Her gaze darted from La Libertad to the kids on the dock and back to him. “We’d wait here in the woods? And if we run into problems, we’d have no other way to escape, right?”

  A backpack slammed against the deck. “Stop wasting your time with this bitch.” Ignado hauled another backpack over his head and launched it at her.

  She jumped out of the way as it crashed next to her. “Are you crazy?”

  This shit was going to have to stop. Right now. Or someone really was going to get hurt.

  “The cruiser stays. We stick to the original plan.” Ignado glared at Antonio. Moving swiftly, trying to tamp down the growing rage at Ignado’s interruption, Antonio jumped from the dock to the deck of La Libertad and within seconds was up in Ignado’s face, finger pointed. “Enough. You don’t make that call.” If Ignado defied him again, he’d leave him here to suffer the consequences of his hot temper and mean-spirited actions.

  Dallas cleared his throat. “Oh, Vega, oh boy.” Dallas pulled the camera off his shoulder. “That Cuban boy and his harem, they can take that thing they built and leave. Have you not seen the shit they float on to get to America? As long as it’s got an engine and it’s smoking, it can move. I think…”

  “Rebecca is going to decide.” Antonio interrupted Dallas. “If she wants me to send these people to America on my yacht, I will.”

  Rebecca’s eyes popped wide. She was obviously shocked to learn he could own a yacht. Pride made him smirk. As far as she knew he had no job other than angry revolutionary. He was so much more. Maybe after this was all over, he’d get a chance to show her what he’d been able to accomplish. Him, the poor Cuban immigrant. Alone, without a family. God bless America. It was indeed the land of opportunity. This yacht of his cost over a hundred thousand dollars. And he’d bought it with cash. “If she wants La Libertad to stay docked here in case we run into trouble and need to leave immediately, it stays. The captain works for me. He’ll do as I order.”

  The air escaped Rebecca’s lungs in one long audible rush. She glanced at Dallas, who looked pissed off, with both hands over his face.

  “Rebecca, Rebecca.” Dallas sighed. “Girl, what are you? On a fever? You let that yacht leave and all we got is smoke signals if we need help. What we gonna do? Dance around like a bunch of Cuban Indians?”

  This time Rebecca didn’t laugh. Instead, she looked at Ignado, who was pacing back and forth. Finally, she looked at Domingo, who rocked the sniffling toddler in his skinny arms. “I refuse to play God. I think maybe we should take a vote,” she whispered.

  Not the answer he’d wanted to hear. In two strides, Antonio moved to the handrail of La Libertad. “This isn’t America, Rebecca.” He put both hands on the bar, his feet wide apart. She wasn’t going to take the easy way out. He wasn’t going to let her. He’d push her just like she had pushed him.

  “Oh, that’s right. We’re in a Communist country now, and I’m dealing with a tyrant,” she said.

  Rubbing her chin, probably in a reference to Fidel Castro, she had to know her actions would only further push his buttons. The woman had balls. “Come up here, Rebecca.” He smiled down at her, but his heart was pounding against his rib cage. “That is an order, not a request. And I dare you to defy me.” What a strange effect they were having on each other. Because although he needed her to acquiesce to him right now in front of his crew and these kids, part of him enjoyed her defiance. And he loved the idea of getting closer to her, under her skin, so close he could, with sk
ills he hadn’t used in a while, bend her to his will. And watch her dissolve in pleasure underneath him.

  …

  Gulping at her own audacity, Rebecca moved toward the ladder, knowing whatever Antonio was about to say or do to her, she probably deserved it. She took each step slowly, stopping only at the unexpected bellow of the bull hidden somewhere in the woods. Taking a deep breath, she moved topside. When she stopped, he motioned with his finger for her to move even closer.

  Biting her bottom lip, she obeyed.

  When she was close enough to see his chest rising and falling, he reached for her, his hand snaking behind her neck, pulling her closer until they were face-to-face with their breaths intermingling. A strange electric jolt of energy shot down her center, making her knees go weak. But not from fear. Strangely, she wasn’t afraid he would hurt her. And she desperately wanted to know what Antonio was going to say or do next.

  “You need to feel what it’s like to be a leader and have lives hanging on your decision. This is your decision to make, no one else’s. There will be no vote.” He never broke his stare as he spoke to her, low, in control, his words no doubt meant for only her to hear.

  Feeling faint, and some other unwelcome emotion, her knees finally did buckle. Antonio caught her with his other arm, pulling her up and against him. His mouth brushed her cheek on its way to her left ear and he whispered, so even Ignado couldn’t hear. “I’m curious to see if you value your life more than theirs.”

  Touché. His words brought heat and tears to the back of her eyes. She blinked to keep from crying in front of him. Why would he put this burden on her? She gulped. Because she’d backed him into a corner in front of his men, that’s why.

  “Rebecca,” Dallas’s strained voice drifted up to her. “Keep the boat here. What good would the video do if we die in some remote area of a third world country?”

  A snort from Ignado followed. She pulled back, and Antonio released her neck, giving her space and allowing her to breathe again. Holy cow, this man could make her heart race.

  She looked at the toddler, bathed in a warm half light of the moon’s glare. Then she noticed his feet. He had no shoes. The girls must have carried him through the woods or his feet would be torn up and bleeding. How would these kids survive even if they did make it across the Florida Straits? Did they have family waiting for them in Miami? Who would buy shoes for this little boy?

  Her viewers back in Tampa didn’t really understand how poverty was still plaguing this island. They probably just watched the president’s press conferences on the opening of a dialogue with Cuba and thought everything was okay now. Maybe she had a chance to prove otherwise. To peel back the curtain on this isolated island and give her viewers the truth.

  Domingo was staring at her with worried eyes, hugging the child to him like a shield. They both deserved a chance. The toddler’s mother was willing to risk their lives to give her child a better future. Her own mother had done the same, and look how much richer her life had become, both literally and figuratively.

  But if she let the cruiser go, she’d be stuck here, literally stuck in a country whose government still committed atrocities. Well, according to Antonio, anyway. She could soon find out firsthand if they didn’t get moving. She glanced at Antonio. He had stopped and was glowering back at her. An acrid brew of dread and anxiety scrambled up her already-upset stomach.

  “What’s it going to be, Rebecca? Will you save these people, or make sure you have a way to save yourself?”

  Chapter Six

  The bumpy ride into Antonio’s hometown of Güira de Melena, in the front seat of a rusted-out, stinky construction truck, was shaking Rebecca to the bone. Getting physically tossed around in suffocating heat minus air-conditioning, with the scent of exhaust whooshing up her nose, was also making her nauseous. Rebecca’s goal: get to Antonio’s sister’s home without throwing up and causing even more tension between her and Antonio.

  They’d been driving for about thirty minutes after hiking out of those brutal woods that had left her legs a patchwork of scrapes and scratches. One cut on her ankle kept bleeding on and off. Her $250 Elie Tahari suit had stains that might eventually come out, but rips that could never be repaired. She brushed a hand across the silky, smooth fabric, swallowing a cry. She loved this outfit, stupid as that sounded now. And had saved hard in order to buy it.

  Dallas and Jose Carlos, the bald kidnapper, sat in the open bed in the back of the pickup truck. She could only imagine the bruises they’d have after bumping around back there. And they’d both probably stink by the time they stopped. She could already smell herself.

  Ignado had jumped into a different truck at the edge of the woods and driven away. Thank God. Antonio hadn’t questioned his actions, and Rebecca had secretly cheered. If she never saw that big bully again it would be fine by her.

  Glancing at the road ahead of her, she choked on the dust the truck kept rustling up. She’d pay a thousand dollars for a hotel room, a hot shower, and a nap right now. Her pink sling backs had two broken straps, and her feet were cramping from the effort it took to walk in broken high heels. Not to mention the blisters.

  Yep, she’d pay every cent in her meager bank account for a chance to wash, bandage a few of the cuts, and change into some sensible, comfortable clothes. And grab a bite to eat. Somewhere. She’d pay even more if Antonio would say something. He’d been silent the whole trip, even when their bodies kept banging into each other with every new pothole or bump.

  He kept staring out the open passenger’s side window. Strands of his hair, which had been slicked back, escaped and smacked him in the face. She had no idea if his silence was in response to her decision to send the La Libertad back to America with the Cuban kids on board, or if he was simply apprehensive about a reunion with a family he’d left more than a decade ago.

  True to his word, he’d honored her decision, and sent the Cuban women and kids to America on his yacht. Domingo had been insulted, insisting that he take his own vessel. A handful of men, who’d been hiding in the woods, had motored off with him. She’d watched as Domingo’s contraption puttered out of view at the break of dawn. She’d prayed for him and everyone else on board both vessels.

  The truck driver next to her kept rambling away in fast Spanish, interrupting her conflicted thoughts. The old Cuban farmer swung from bittersweet tales of his aging friends to outbursts over new political difficulties.

  Sweat stung her eyes. Boy, could she use some ice-cold water, and she’d run out of her lukewarm supply. She knew better than to ask to stop. What was the point, when she hadn’t seen a convenience store anywhere along the way? Where did you buy stuff in rural Cuba? So far she’d seen nothing but unfarmed farmland. Had to be a story there, too. Why wasn’t anyone using this fertile land? Made no sense. Maybe because they didn’t have the equipment to work the land? Or the gas to power the equipment? How sad that would be for all the people who lived here. And lived hungry.

  “We’re here.” As the farmer took a sharp right turn, she slid into Antonio’s side again. His thigh contracted on contact. With bunched shoulders and balled-up fists, he looked like a bundle of explosives ready to blow. She didn’t want to be the one to ignite him.

  Shifting farther away, she sat taller, straining to see out of the dirty front windshield. The street they’d turned onto was one of many in the small farm town. It was flooded with activity. Kids, in what looked like faded school uniforms, played street games and listened to music. A few even danced on a sidewalk as they passed by. Adults congregated in groups on front porches, sipping afternoon drinks. She glanced at her watch. One p.m. Don’t people here work?

  Small homes, jammed together, reminded her of the clutter of public housing in the Ponce de Leon project where she grew up in Tampa. Homes there were made of concrete slabs that had little in personality and even less in the way of comfort. Here it was probably the same.

  Her heart ached for the little ones playing on the dusty streets, kn
owing at their age they probably wanted nothing more than another hour to play, but also understanding eventually that a good time with a stick and a tennis ball wouldn’t fill their rumbling stomachs. The lack of the basic necessities would eventually leave even the most carefree child yearning for more. She sighed, remembering how she and her friends had gathered on the curb of the concrete parking lot looking for ways to play away the bad things that happened at home behind closed doors.

  “Antonio.” She talked over the farmer, who still hadn’t stopped to take a breath. “Is your family expecting you?” She had no idea if their visit here would be a surprise. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to ask. So much had happened so fast.

  “My sister knows. So does my grandmother.” He inhaled and exhaled slowly. “I told them not to tell anyone else.”

  She nodded, strangely relieved. They were here illegally. “And your mother?”

  He turned to glare at her, but his eyes appeared to go out of focus. “She’s dead.”

  Rebecca licked her dry lips. “I’m sorry. I…”

  “She died of a heart attack shortly after our local CDR member shot and killed my father in our front yard.”

  “What?” Was she hearing right?

  Antonio had spoken those awful words casually, but she could feel anger rolling off him. His heated energy made her scoot farther away from him.

  Antonio turned to stare out the window again, and she barely made out his next sentence. “My father and I were throwing a ball in this street when he died.”

  Rebecca’s breath hitched. He’d witnessed his father’s murder. Dear God. That one nugget of information explained so much about his hardened personality. His coldness had to be a defense mechanism, because who the hell could be normal after watching their dad die? Oh God, this trip back must be so bittersweet for him.

  She reached out to unravel his white-knuckled fist. His skin, which should have been hot thanks to the tropical temperature, felt clammy instead. She tried to pry his fingers apart, but he jerked away from her in a manner that left her afraid to look at him, much less speak again. His fingers were unmovable, like marble.